Sweet Dreams
by jivvin
Summary: These thoughts I must not think of, dreams I can't make sense of - I need you to tell me it's okay. Bruce/Betty oneshot.


A/N: This one was written under the impression of the song "When Anger Shows" by the Editors. And by 'impression' I mean literal tears in my eyes. I like it and I hope you'll like it too, even though it's a bit weird and will possibly make no sense. Sorry about that.

* * *

It felt so good.

No, it was even something more... Not simply enjoyable or pleasant, no, there was a special word for that...

He couldn't quite concentrate over all the screams, and it made him really angry. So he just pressed harder and felt the cold shiny metal crumple under his fingers like tin foil. All the funny clinking and whizzing of breaking circuitry now turned to a sharp screech as the metal bent violently, squeezing the flesh underneath, cracking bones and popping vessels. That horrendous cry was now but a croaking gargle, choking on itself as the man's insides turned into mush, hot blood oozing out of the cracks in the metal.

This body's agony was almost over. It lasted longer than the others', but it was time to finish it.

He pressed with all his strength in the center of the red chest plate, in that annoying triangular light, and it only gave out a small whimper before crumbling into tiny pieces and going off in one brilliant burst of light and energy. This body was done, and so it was thrown away to rot with the others.

As he stood over the charred and broken remains of those puny human beings, a word finally came to his mind.

Satisfying.

It felt _satisfying._

For a moment there, he thought he heard another scream somewhere, but the sound of it was so distant and muffled he paid it no attention. Meanwhile the fogs and mists around him swirled as a powerful gust of wind blew through, swallowing the corpses and at the same time revealing the crimson sky and the last seconds of the bleeding, dying sun.

And _her_. Her, whom he hated the most.

She simply stood next to him, her eyes fixed on his, her lips pressed into a thin line. She defied him.

Out of them all, she alone _dared_ to defy him, and it made him absolutely _furious_.

He felt his anger boil inside of him only to be spilled outside in a ferocious guttural growl that shook the ground and sent the clouds of dust into the air. She didn't even flinch.

But he will make her. He will show her what the true terror is and what defying him _always_ results in. Her skin is pale and smooth like paper, and, just like paper, he will rip it off her in patches and shreds, his hands getting slick with her blood, her tender flesh coming off of her thin, fragile bones. He will crash and tear and _smash_ until all that's left was her goddamned eyes. So clear and calm and too foolish to be properly afraid of him...

He heard it again just as he was ready to discard her mangled corpse. That faraway scream, familiar yet entirely alien... He looked one last time in her eyes and felt that his heart rate was becoming faster and faster, his vision tinting green and reality slipping out of his grasp as he...

Opened his eyes.

_Oh no, not again_.

Bruce saw the dark room instantly light ablaze with green, felt his head splitting in two with a deafening roar and a distant scream, his muscles rippling, flexing, _aching_ to stretch. The other guy was close, so dangerously close to coming out that it took all of Bruce's willpower not to transform right there, that very second, in his bed next to the woman he...

_No, god, don't even think about it..._

Gathering the last grains of self-control, he shut his eyes and clutched at his temples as if trying to force the other guy to stay inside, even if meant caving the bones of his skull in on him. He tried to will his ragged, chaotic breathing to calm down, but to no avail. He felt as though he was drowning, cold dark waters engulfing him, dragging him into the abyss. Thoughts raced through his fevered mind, each one louder than the one that came before it, each piercingly painful and terribly fast as they stumbled into each other, rumbling and making no sense.

_No, no, it wasn't real, it wasn't real, it wasn't..._

_I'm gonna be sick..._

_I killed them. For Christ's sake, I killed them all..._

_No, it wasn't me, the other guy..._

_The hell it wasn't! It is my head, and it was me and I..._

_...god, I'm a monster..._

_No! My control is stronger than ever, the only way the other guy can get me is through my subconscious..._

_Excuses! It was all me, all along..._

_I'm a good person!_

_But I enjoyed it... In the dream, it felt so satisfying..._

_It was only a dream, just my fear of..._

_I'm a monster..._

_...please..._

_I'M A MONSTER!_

"It's okay."

The world stood still.

For a split second the storm subsided, and the waves came to a halt right before he could choke on them. Their taste still lingered in his mouth, warm and salty...

"It's okay."

Her voice.

It was magic.

Her fingers on his own, touching lightly, gently.

It was a dream.

Oh sweet insanity that ruled his life, he got it all wrong. Of course, _then_ was a brutal, terrible reality, but _now_, now he was certainly dreaming. And she was in his dream, not bloodied and ravaged and _dead_, no, she was here and she was his, his one, his only, his...

"Betty..."

He still refused to open his eyes, afraid to taint this beautiful dream with the harsh green flame of reality, but his arms were already circling themselves around her, his fingers grasping at her back, her shoulders, her hair, his very essence clinging to her with the livid desperation of a drowning man... And he was drowning, wasn't he? He was using all his strength to keep himself on the surface, and his face was still wet for some reason, his breathing still ragged and shallow... But she saved him. The other guy still roared from the deep, bashing furiously on the walls of his mind, and, standing in the eye of the storm, Bruce was still surrounded but those predatory waters, but it did not matter now, nothing mattered now, because...

"I'm here," she whispered, surrendering to his embrace, and somehow it sang louder in his head than all the roars and screams of his beast and his ghosts.

"It's okay."

Now that was a lie. It is not. It is not okay, Betty, and it will never be, because the man lying next to you in this dark tiny room is a horrible monster. And that's how Bruce knows it's all a dream - he would never, ever let that happen in the real world. To let her soothe the beast? To let her bind herself to his broken, demented existence, to lead her straight to the land of the clouding mist and the bleeding sun? To let her be so close to him, to put herself in danger of being _so close to him_... lying next to him and clasping her arms around him, stroking his hair and whispering in his ear, loving him...

"I love you, you hear me," she read his mind. "I'm here, and I love you, and _it will be okay_," her whisper was filling his mind, her conviction and quiet strength overpowering, intoxicating, _infuriating..._

_Oh please, let this dream last forever. _

Because he was sure he would never hear these words in the real life.

Love. How could she love him if he can barely stand to look at himself in the mirror? In those bleak brown eyes, filled with fear and disgust, in that plain, empty mask he calls his face? How could anyone love this weak, pathetic creature, lost inside a wasteland of a mind never completely his... She couldn't, she absolutely certainly couldn't, it was all a trick, a delusion, it was good, _oh so good_, and good things just didn't happen to him...

"Shh," she whispered in his lips, her breath tingling his skin, her hand on his cheek, his brow, his eyelids, touching lightly, brushing the desperation away.

_No, please, let it be real._

Let it be his last day, let it be here and now, but let her be with him, so close, so soft and just _there_. Let _him _be there for her, hold her in his arms, feel the heat of her skin, hear her gentle whisper and never hurt her. Let her be his lifeline, his soft place to land, his refuge, his prison... Let his breathing slow down and his heart to stop beating once he heard those quiet words, so deafeningly loud in the rumbling cacophony of his broken mind.

"It's okay."

Yeah, it's okay.

A peal of thunder rumbles quietly in the distance. It smells like rain and it feels like three in the morning.

_Another day._

He takes a deep breath and feels the waters slowly receding, his fear distant and his hands steady. He opens his eyes and reaches his hand to brush strands of hair from her beautiful face.

"I needed to hear that," he murmurs lightly, not completely trusting his voice yet. "I needed you to say it."

She smiles.

"I know."

She kisses his lips and it takes all his self-control not to laugh at how stupid he'd been.

Because it is real. It is here and now, and she is there, and everything will be _fine_.

He may be a horrible person, but he can hide it well. He may have a raging monster inside of him, but he can control it. For some miraculous reason this perfect woman loves him, and for her he will pretend that dreams are just dreams.

Until another day, of course, and another night, when he kills them again and wakes up in panic with the taste of blood and salt in his mouth.

_Until next time, it's all okay._


End file.
